Last Testament

‘So my friend, you’ve come to visit again.’ The aged wizard did not get up. ‘You’ll forgive me if this has to be the last time we have one of our little… chats.’ He picked up his glass of red wine and drained the last dregs, casting a regretful look at the empty bottle on the cluttered bureau nearby. ‘Perhaps you’ll beg the indulgence of an old man as I have a final warning to pass on to you before I … travel onward.’

‘Many years past when I was a little less wise, a little less round, a little less worn out…well perhaps a lot less in some cases… where was I? Ah yes, forty or fifty years ago… we were travelling in the distant north. I won’t bother you with details. I was less in control of things in those times. Mind you, sometimes I wish that those times…’

‘Anyway, in the North, yes do help yourself, that may be the last of it I’m afraid. It’s cold in the North, but I suppose you know that, but it’s indescribably cold in the lair of the Lych king, and that, by, as they say, a series of unfortunate events, was where we were. The cold was a killing cold, not that there was anything there to kill, everything there was already dead.’

‘The citadel into which I had gained entry with a stolen wand was a multitude of interlocked frozen towers, the walls lined with undead skeletally integrated into the very walls of the lych king’s fortress.’

He rose and spent a few moments gathering some scrolls that had slipped to the floor. For a moment he looked distracted, then remembered his visitor. ‘Sorry, miles away, those were dark times. Some memories are as bleak as the walls of this place. In any case, we had been joined by a death mage, a former colleague of ours who had somehow taken up a career as a serial killer under the influence of an artefact of unspeakable evil.’

He sat back heavily in his chair with a grimace. ‘I went by the name ‘Magnificent’ in those days. Can you believe the arrogance? I can’t even blame my youth, I was at least ten years out of college, but sometimes it paid off I suppose. A little confidence can go a long way when your powers are about as impressive as a street conjuror playing find the lady. There was nothing any of us could do about the interloper but follow his lead and hope to escape him, but we never, ever did of course. ’

‘We had made some progress, animating several thousand undead, largely through the efforts of the aforementioned Death mage and his lackey, an apprentice formerly trapped in parrot form. The plan was to defeat the lych king and his Blood Council. Problem was, the lych king was more used to defeating gods and daemons rather than specks of dust like us.’

‘We might have had thousands of skeletons but he had tens of thousands, and could probably restore his control of ours at a glance. His minions had power that could flick us aside like fleas. We hatched a plan to bluff our way to a meeting of the Blood council there was a weapon we needed wielded by the council leader. After some tense moments passing gargoyle guards, Valkyries and taking a number to join the long queue of minions awaiting disciplinary hearings, we were ushered in to the hall where the council meted out justice.’

‘The justice I mention turned out to be fairly heavy on the ‘Throw them into the pit of doom’ variety. What? Yes, well say what you like, I think their re-offending rates were impressively low. There were three elf type vampires, Dark Fallen all and one who styled herself the Blood Qeen. There was a pretty hefty arachnid type creature and our main, yet secondary objective, one Darien Moorgrain, owner of a fabulous sword specially crafted for slaying Lych Kings, which apparently represented our only hope of destroying the afore mentioned monarch.’

‘Our plan involved various spells, firstly a charm from me that I targeted on arachno man. Incredible to me now given the raw state of my skills all those decades ago, that it actually worked and the luckless creature attacked the blood queen at my command. The death mage used silence spells on the other dark fallen and Plainsweaver, the Tauren druid/ Alchemist/ cow type creature with us targeted Moorgrain.’

‘We had a hell of a fight I can tell you, and I’ve told you about some of my fights in our chats together haven’t I? It amazes me now to think of the barest slip of power I had at my command in those days and yet we took on those guys. If we’d had the slightest comprehension of what we were taking on, we’d never have dared it.’

‘My charmee pinned down the blood queen but was only stopping her from doing too much, though she fired off some deadly scythe type spells even though trapped. The death mage, whose name was Woodwanker by the way, was dealing with the vampire dark fallen with some difficulty. I turned invisible for a bit to give my colleagues good fields of fire. Fuqnosia and our tame Orc laid into the enemy too, but the Death Mage duo dealt with most of the skeletal undead with some impressive powers.’

‘Plainsweaver and co tried to hack off Darian’s hand in their combat and eventually succeeded, just as the Blood Queen broke free. The vampires were losing out to Wanker and his summoned assistance, whilst the Blood Queen was locked in a struggle with Chappaquiddick’s summoned ghoul and we managed to get them both shoved down the death pit.’

‘Plainsweaver grabbed up the weapon and we prepared our final assault. Ascending to the central chamber where Lych King waited, I tried my final spell as we attacked but it quickly became apparent that we were outmatched. My still charmed bodyguard fell quickly and it was obvious that we were al going to die.’

‘The king’s blade was trapping the souls of those it injured and causing some severe problems, but after experiencing some of that unpleasantness myself first hand, I returned to reality in time to use my last spell.’

‘It was a minor cantrip, a schoolboy could learn it in a day. I had heard that the lych king derived power from his crown or helmet depending on which source you read. I levitated his helmet clear off his head. He collapsed. After that it was easy, Poor old Lych king Arthus finished off, but you know what they say…’ He paused and coughed into a handkerchief studying it for a moment after wiping his mouth with it.

‘The King is dead, long live…’ he winced in pain for a second and paused, collecting himself for a few moments. ‘The King. Before you knew it, Woodwanker took the throne of the king, literally. He offered us a deal but I knew better. We fled that place, Plainsweaver with his new toy sword that gave him a whole new outlook on life.’

‘I had gained a few helpful magic items checking out some of the heavies we had toasted. Fair to say that day probably started me on the road to where I am today. Plainsweaver used his weapon for good. You’ve no doubt heard of Lord Weaver the Paladin, leader in the war against daemon Lord Azriarg, right hand of the Argent Crusade, Smiter of Justice, Alchemist to the Court of Righteousness and a thousand other titles.’

‘Fuqnosia opened the Slaughtered Goat, yes, right here, next door. I realise that’s not your scene and you’re not the greatest reader but maybe you’ve heard of her series of books: ‘Fuqnosia where this leads’.

‘The orc took up the offer of service with the lych king…’ He paused to cough somewhat feebly at this point, made to get out of his chair again, but then appeared to change his mind. ‘Yes I’m sure you’ve heard of Lutzbar the daemon slayer. She carved a swathe of destruction through hell itself and lived to tell the tale.’ He convulsed again, but seemed to recover.

‘Nearly out of time I think. Did you see The Art of Daemon Slaying? I think it was ghost written but it’s certainly her style…got a copy over there somewhere…a first edition, some of the chapter headings are even etched in the blood of certain daemons unfortunate enough to meet her personally’ He gestured vaguely at one of the many bookshelves lining the walls.

‘Chappaquiddick meanwhile discovered a new talent. She works at the Slaughtered Goat would you believe? Not doing you know, what most of the female employees get up to in there, more of a security detail, though since her fight with the daemon …Kralack? Krimac? No Kazak, yes Lord Kazak I think, she’s been a bit slower.’

‘OK I know what you’re thinking, what about Woodwanker? Lych king extraordinaire; Daemonbane; the Ice Mage and general mass murderer. That’s still him, in all his roles but above all I know him for what he is…Crow Killer. And what did I do? Introduced the Pizza to Azeroth. Well just time for just one more incantation, it’s getting late, time you were off…’ He dissolved again into a heavy coughing fit.

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The next morning Fuqnosia found the body in the main lab on the top floor of Bleak House. The wizard lay at peace on the camp bed that he often used when working in the lab, a calm expression on his face, a half full glass of red wine on the table by his side. Cedrico Umberto Nicello Traviate Clacksimeone, Mage of Fire and Ice had passed on to the other side.

The place smelled of raw power and still echoed with faint glows and noises hinting at mighty magicks yet to fully disperse. She hurried back down the stairs and fetched Chappaquiddick from her quarters. The limping death mage struggled somewhat in the long climb up the stairs but entered the chamber a few seconds behind.

On the desk in the centre, a small burned mannequin of what may once have been a robed figure lay in pieces. The desk itself was inscribed with runes that meant nothing to the death mage, scorched and burned into the surface after being discharged from a scroll of considerable power if Chappaquiddick was any judge. She looked around the room for other clues to what might have happened and noticed something on the window cill.

‘What’s this?’ She said, walking over to the half open window.

Fuqnosia walked over sadly and followed her gaze. Chappaquiddick had been looking at a scattering of crumbs and seeds and what looked like small pieces of chopped meat.

‘Oh it’s nothing, he always feeds… fed the birds there, have you never seen the crows rooks, jackdaws, circling the tower?’ Fuqnosia wandered back to the bed and noticed that in her old friend’s hand there was a scrap of vellum or parchment. She very carefully teased it from between the corpse’s fingers and gently unrolled it. Her companion came over and they read it together. Just one word was etched there: